


An Open Book

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [106]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: 1940s, F/M, Female Steve Rogers, Friends to Lovers, Genderswap, Morning After, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-25 09:11:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15637644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: The snow was piled up to the windows when Stevie woke up, washing the world outside in an unbreaking wave of white.





	An Open Book

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts: Winter, Genderswap, and Body Heat. Prompts from this [generator](http://colormayfade.tumblr.com/generator).

The snow was piled up to the windows when Stevie woke up, washing the world outside in an unbreaking wave of white. It was cold, too, damn right it was, but there was a vague ripple of warmth that made the air above the covers almost bearable. That and it smelled of baking bread and brewing coffee, and who could sit up without a smile on their face when a new day began with that?

“Buck?” she called, her eyes not quite open, her arms stretched wide above her head. “You go all Betty Crocker on me while I was out?”

“You slept so damn long,” Bucky said, “I could’ve made a ten-course meal and I don’t think you’d have noticed.”

When she opened her eyes, he was lounging in the doorway, arms crossed and legs akimbo like he’d stood his whole life. He was wearing beat-up dungarees and a fisherman’s sweater, nothing special, but the open affection on his face, the smoldering glow of his eyes, those were brand spanking new--happy leftovers, Stevie realized, of the night before, and that, of all the things they’d said and done since the last time the sun rose, that’s what made her blush, made her heart swell Valentine in her chest, made her feel like every dime-store novel dame she’d ever read about, melting under the gaze of her man.

Was that what Bucky was now? She flushed harder. God, she hoped so. But how did one go about asking that, exactly? Better and safer to stick to giving him shit, the same as she’d done since kindergarten.

So she said: “Oh, boo hoo, Bucky Barnes. Having to entertain yourself this whole time. Nothing but your own head for company, huh? How the hell did you manage that?”

Bucky snorted, shoved his hair away from his face. “Believe it or not, you’re not the end all and be all of conversation, Rogers. And there are these things called books now. Don’t know if you’ve heard of them. They’re more entertaining than you. And a lot quieter, too. Kind of nice to not be talked back to every ten seconds.”

Stevie sat back. This was good. This was normal. She could work with this. “Oh, bullshit,” she said. “The truth is that no one will put up with you but me. Books can’t fight back. They can’t tell you when you’re being a prick.”

It was an everyday insult, one she’d called him a thousand times, one he’d thrown at her just as much. But now when she said it, she could see it; could remember the weight of it in her hand, the way he’d looked at her while she stroked it, like he was balsa wood and steel all at once, and god, the way it’d felt against her pussy, the heat of it, the shove, even before he started to ease it in, and--

All this in an instant, a fevered flash, and when she met his eyes, she could see it: what she was thinking was all over her face.

“Something you wanna share with the class, Stevie?” he said in a voice like black coffee.

“No.”

His gaze shifted and she realized that the covers weren’t living up to their name, were they, weren’t doing their actual job, because they’d fallen away from her chest and exposed the pale turn of her breasts. Well, not so pale now; she could feel the creep of heat.

“Are you sure?” Bucky said. “It sure looks like there’s something you want to tell me.”

She didn’t reach for the sheets like she should have. She didn’t feel bad or dirty or wrong like movies said she would, like her mother had, like every priest she’d ever seen preach had always thundered like it was a given, a fundamental of God’s law. Good girls keep their legs together until marriage. Good girls don’t like it when boys kiss them and pet the places where they’re softest, where they’re wet. And good girls sure as hell don’t go gallivanting all across the West with their best friend to try to cram as much living in as they can before said friend says _I do_ to Uncle Sam and gets shipped off to keep Hitler from devouring Europe and then, less than a week in, go to bed with this friend willingly, joyfully, preen under his hands and smart-ass mouth and watch him fall into a thousand shiny pieces when he made the good girl come.

The sound of her own voice startled her. “Buck--”

That’s all she said, all she had to. He could hear what she really meant, she knew it; she could see it in his eyes. She’d been an open book to him her whole life.

Two steps and he was by the bed, another and he was on it, on her, his fingers eager in her hair, his face nuzzled between her breasts.

“I’m sorry,” she’d said the night before when he’d undressed her, when she’d helped him tug away her chemise.

His palms swallowed her breasts, gave each a gentle squeeze. “Sorry? For what, honey?”

“They’re not--I mean, they’re not very big, are they?”

Bucky’s hands had stopped and he’d stared at her, those familiar eyes soft and wide. “Stevie, jesus. They’re beautiful. Can’t you see that?”

There’d been a flutter in her throat, a catch of something with wings. “You don’t have to say that.”

“Mmmm. You won’t take my word for it, fine. Look at my hands, though. Look at what I’m holding.”

She dipped her chin, watched long, tanned fingers move over soft cream-colored swells; watched him catch the weight of her, balance her breasts in his palms.

“Aren’t they beautiful?” Bucky murmured, his mouth tucked against her temple. “Aren’t they the prettiest things you’ve ever seen?” He swept his thumbs over her nipples and groaned when she shuddered, when she clutched at his wrists. “I think they are.”

She’d made a low, hot sound she’d never heard before and pressed herself into his hands, asking without asking for more. “That feels so good,” she’d whispered. “Buck, _Bucky_ , don’t stop.”

And now, as he had in the darkness, he bent his dark head and gave his mouth to her, too, sucking her nipples into sweet, rosy peaks.  


**Author's Note:**

> DAMN IT I WANT TO FINISH THIS ONE


End file.
